


I Said I’d Never Let You Fall And I Always Meant It

by destielsdessert



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Bullying, Coming Out, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flower Child!Newt, Flower Crowns, Fluff and Angst, Hugs, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-03-11 10:42:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13522545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destielsdessert/pseuds/destielsdessert
Summary: Thomas first notices the blond boy when he's twelve years old.It's the school lunch break, and Thomas is on the field, playing football with the other kids in his class. He's grinning, and he's running around, breathing heavily. When he stops to catch his breath, he finds his eyes wandering, searching his surroundings for nothing in particular.His gaze stops on a tree in the corner of the field, and the small boy beneath it. Thomas stares; the boy has messy blond hair, but he's wearing a flower crown and it's absolutely adorable.





	1. Oh, Don't You Know I Will Never Let You Go

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, this is just going to be a bunch of stories from Thomas's and Newt's lives together.  
> (Any ideas or requests are greatly appreciated!).

Thomas first notices the blond boy when he's twelve years old.

It's the school lunch break, and Thomas is on the field, playing football with the other kids in his class. He's grinning, and he's running around, breathing heavily. When he stops to catch his breath, he finds his eyes wandering, searching his surroundings for nothing in particular.

His gaze stops on a tree in the corner of the field, and the small boy beneath it. Thomas stares; the boy has messy blond hair, but he's wearing a _flower crown_ and it's absolutely adorable. Completely forgetting about the football game, Thomas slowly makes his way over, eyes never leaving the boy. He looks almost sad, face contorted into a small frown and it makes Thomas frown, too, because he wants to see the boy smile. Wants to _make_ the boy smile.

As Thomas gets closer, he notices how small the boy is. Like, he's really skinny, but it doesn't look unhealthy, per se, he's probably just a slim build. But it makes the boy seem all the more younger, and makes Thomas want to make him smile even more because such a young boy shouldn't look so sad.

He stops about a metre in front of the boy, casting a shadow over him, and the boy glances up, confused. His frown deepens, blinking and looking as if he's waiting for an explanation for why Thomas has interrupted his peaceful solitude.

"Hi!" Thomas greets, overly-excited, and he's trying to ease the tension but it doesn't work because the boy just continues to stare. "'M Thomas," he continues, and he takes a step closer. "Why are you sitting alone?"

The boy drops his stare, turning his attention to the grass beneath him. Thomas feels a pang of guilt fill him - he probably shouldn't have asked that. It's just, sometimes, he speaks before he thinks and he ends up saying the wrong thing. He moves even closer to the blond boy, sitting next to him and leaning against the tree. The boy doesn't look at him again, just pulls his knees close to his chest, and Thomas knows he's making him uncomfortable but he can't find it in himself to leave.

He has to see the boy smile.

Thomas stares at him for a few more seconds before he continues to talk. "Do you want a hug? You look like you need one."

The boy tenses, but he turns to look at Thomas with wide eyes and Thomas almost grins widely - this is the biggest reaction he's gotten so far. Eventually, the boy nods, swallowing, and Thomas takes that as his cue. He leans over, moving the boy's arms from his knees and wrapping them around his own waist, pulling him close. The boy lets out a small sigh, cuddling close to Thomas and Thomas lets himself grin now that the boy can't see him. He takes this time to study the flower crown atop the boy's head - little yellow flowers intertwined with each other, and it looks handmade.

Great. Now Thomas has this stomach-twisting image of the boy perched in a field of flowers, making flower crowns, eyes twinkling. He's smiling and he's happy and he looks like he belongs. Thomas's heart hurts.

Thomas loves giving hugs, loves making people happy, seeing smiles on people's faces and knowing that he's the cause of it. It makes him feel light, free, and he never wants to stop. But he's never felt this quite so strong before, never _needed_ to cheer someone up like this. This boy is like a beacon, beckoning Thomas towards him and Thomas can't help it, he can't resist it.

Not that he wants to.

They stay like that until the end of lunch, the boy pulling away when the bell rings, looking sleepy and downright _adorable_. He doesn't smile, much to Thomas's dismay, and he wants to say something more but his teacher is calling him over. He stands up, takes a step away but abruptly turns back. "I like you," he says, and the boy's eyes widen, as if he's never heard that before. Thomas's stomach drops at the thought. "Find me if you ever need another hug." Then he turns away again and runs to join his classmates. 

It's not until he's sat down in class that he realises: he never asked the boy's name.

***

The following day, Thomas is hyper all morning. He's so excited for lunch that he can't sit still, can't wait to find the boy again and try to make him smile.

He's decided it's his new life's mission.

And he stays like that, giddy and fidgety and smiling constantly and when it gets to lunch he can't stop grinning and his friends find it annoying because he won't say _why_. He can't eat his lunch, stomach full of butterflies and he's too nervous so he leaves the lunch hall early, earning looks of confusion from his friends when he walks away right in the middle of a conversation.

He makes his way to his locker, practically skipping, and shoves his lunch box inside (he'll figure out some excuse for not eating it later). But he needs the toilet, so he goes to the bathroom. When he walks inside, he heads for a stall but then he hears sniffling.

Someone's crying.

Thomas freezes, turning around. It's the blond boy.

He's tucked in the far corner of the room, hidden from sight for anyone who isn't actually _looking_ for him. Immediately, Thomas is rushing towards him, kneeling down in front of him and the boy's head snaps up, eyes wide and glistening with tears. Thomas doesn't get the chance to ask _what's wrong?_ because the boy is lunging forward, arms wrapping around Thomas's neck and Thomas barely has time to snake his arms around the boy's waist before the boy is sobbing into Thomas's shoulder.

Every single drop of excitement is whittled out of Thomas, replaced with the sensation of a tight throat, and he swallows deeply, trying to stay calm. "It's okay," he whispers, nuzzling his nose into the boy's hair.

That's when Thomas realises: no flower crown.

He frowns, looking around without moving to see if it's anywhere near but it isn't. He drops his gaze back down to the top of the boy's head, and can feel his own eyes filling with tears because the boy is crying and it makes Thomas want to cry, too. Makes Thomas want to hold him until he calms down then demand to know what happened so he can fix it.

He rubs his hand up and down the boy's back and, honestly, Thomas is grateful that he's so good at comforting people. Most kids his age focus on having fun and playing games but Thomas's idea of fun is making people happy, especially if they're upset. So he whispers, "C'mon, it's okay, I promise," and he asks the boy to, "Stop crying, you're okay."

And, slowly, the boy does. His sobs turn into whimpers which turn into small sniffles and, eventually, the boy falls silent. But he keeps his head on Thomas's shoulder, nose pressed slightly into Thomas's neck and it doesn't seem like he's going to pull away any time soon. Thomas isn't complaining. He holds the boy tighter, closer, arms squeezing around the much smaller frame, a silent promise that he's not going anywhere.

It's calm for a few seconds, and Thomas is finally relaxing again when the boy suddenly rips himself out of Thomas's arms, backing away so his back is against the wall. Thomas tenses, breath stopping momentarily because the boy looks as if he's only _just_ realised what just happened, and he doesn't seem happy about it. His eyes are red and puffy from crying, and Thomas wants to ask what's wrong but the boy is standing up, mouth opening and closing as if he wants to say something but, before he manages to, he's running out the door.

Thomas doesn't move, bewildered and staring at where the boy had left. He realises that the boy hasn't actually said anything to him yet, hasn't said a word to Thomas so Thomas still has no way of figuring out what's upsetting him so much.

And he _still_ doesn't know his name.

***

Thomas doesn't see the boy on Wednesday or Thursday, and it's really beginning to affect him. He's been searching everywhere any chance he can get, but it's as if the boy is avoiding him because he is literally _nowhere_.

His mother has noticed his lack of enthusiasm. Friday morning, she asks if he's feeling okay, if he's sick, and if he wants to stay home from school. Most children would jump at this chance - because who wants to go to school? - but Thomas can't risk it. He needs to find the boy, see if he's okay because the last time he saw him, he broke down in Thomas's arms and Thomas still doesn't know why. How is he supposed to make it better if he doesn't know _why_?

When he says he's fine, his mother eyes him warily, but he knows she can't keep him off of school if he wants to go. So she drives him in, tells him to _have a good day_ but to go straight to the nurse if he starts feeling any worse. Thomas tells her he loves her and then he rushes out of the car and to his locker because he's got some time to look for the boy before his first class.

But when he reaches his locker, and he shoves his schoolbag inside, Minho walks up to him and asks if Thomas can help him with his homework because he doesn't understand it, and Thomas wants to say _no_ and that he's busy but he _always_ helps Minho with his homework and he can look for the boy later. So, reluctantly, Thomas nods and follows Minho to their first class and he helps, because that's what he does.

Their first class is English and usually Thomas loves it because they write creative stories and he has an extremely overactive imagination and he loves to get his ideas down on paper. But when the teacher hands out their notebooks and he opens up to a new page, he just stares blankly at the paper because the only thing he can think about is _flower crowns_ and _messy blond hair_.

Minho is staring at him and asks if he's okay and Thomas mumbles _yeah, m'fine_ , but he knows he isn't fooling anyone. But he can't explain, doesn't know how and instead he just lets his hand do the work, writing and writing even though he doesn't know what he's actually writing. Within minutes, he's written almost a full page and he stops, deciding he should read what he's written because it could be absolute gibberish. 

It isn't.

Thomas feels his heart stop as he reads. _Eyes so dark you could get lost in them, so wide and soft that they mirror the eyes of a doe_. Thomas's own eyes widen, reading another sentence. _Hair so messy it's as if he's just woken up but, somehow, he still makes it perfect_. Another.  _When he cries, I can feel my heart shattering, bursting into a million pieces, sinking into the pit of my stomach._

Thomas bites his lip. He goes to rip the page out, scrunch it up and throw it in the bin. But then the teacher stops in front of him and Thomas freezes, because he knows she's about to read what he's written because she always does, every time they do creative writing she always seems to enjoy reading what Thomas writes because his ideas are unique, different.

Not now, though. Thomas is going to get into so much trouble for this, he just knows it.

His cheeks burn as she picks up his book with her usual friendly smile, and Thomas can feel Minho staring at him, awaiting the praise that Thomas always gets. But not this time. 

Her eyebrows raise as she reads, and when she finishes she hands the notebook back to Thomas, who takes it with shaking hands. He awaits the yelling, but it doesn't come. "See me at the end of class, Thomas," is what she says, and then she walks away to read some other stories.

Thomas doesn't know if that's better or worse.

"Dude, what was that?" Minho whisper-shouts, incredulous. "Where was the 'this is amazing, Thomas, let me read it when it's finished'?"

Thomas sinks into his chair slightly, not sure how to answer. He's not a teacher's pet, and isn't amazing at all of his classes, but this is one that he's always been good at, always excelled at and he's just ruined it. He doesn't reply fast enough for Minho, though, who, tired of waiting for an answer, decides he'll find out for himself and grabs Thomas's book.

Thomas yelps in surprise, launching to grab it back. He rips it from Minho's grasp, holding it tight to his chest because it's bad enough that the teacher has read it but he will _not_ let Minho read it, too. Minho will _never_ let him live it down.

"What the hell?" Minho groans, frowning. "Let me read it, I wanna know what you wrote. You _always_ let me read your writing."

Thomas can't find his voice, throat tight, so he adamantly shakes his head and Minho just sighs in disappointment, mumbling _fine_ before he turns his attention back to his own work.

Thomas doesn't speak for the rest of the lesson.

***

About two minutes before the bell, Thomas is positively vibrating with nerves. His breaths are laboured, and he's panicked because he's never been in trouble at school before, _never_. And they might call his mother and she'll be so disappointed and if there's one thing Thomas hates, it's disappointment.

Then the bell rings, and everybody packs their things away and Minho stands at his desk for a moment, saying, "I'll see you later, yeah? Don't worry, I'm sure it's nothing."

Thomas nods, feigning a smile but it can't be nothing because he's never asked to stay behind after class unless it's to help clean up. The other pupils filter out of the class, babbling and laughing and Thomas really, _really_ wants to join them because his heart is thundering and he's dizzy and he's panicking way too much.

He shuffles his way to the front of the class, where the teacher is sitting at her desk, typing away on her computer. Thomas stares at his feet when he stops in front of her, hearing her laugh a little only a few seconds later.

"Oh, Thomas, stop looking so scared!" she exclaims and Thomas's head snaps up, eyes narrowed in confusion and he sees her smiling and this doesn't make sense. Does she get this much pleasure out of giving him into trouble?

"I don't understand," he mumbles, talking for the first time in about an hour (which, for Thomas, is rare).

She turns her chair to face him. "Thomas, I know I've always told you how much I love your stories. Most of the time they're incredible." _Most of the time_. Thomas's heart stops, and he trembles with the anticipation. "We have this creative club, where you can do artsy stuff, make music, or write stories, or anything else that uses your imagination." Thomas doesn't get where this is going. "I think it would highly benefit you to join. We do weekly challenges, and a lot of them involve working with someone else in the group. We even take part in wider-range competitions, against other schools in the state and they can be really beneficial."

Thomas isn't going to lie - he likes the sound of this. The idea of participating in little challenges, especially with other people is exactly the sort of thing he enjoys.

"I thought it might be nice if you met some people who enjoy some of the things you do," she continues. "Now, obviously, I know you have friends and I know you're very close. I'm not in the slightest suggesting you replace them. But I feel like a friend who boosts your creativity might be something you would want." It's definitely something Thomas would want. Nobody would replace Minho or Alby, but a friend that he can write stories with sounds like something he can look forward to. "Look, don't worry about it right now. Just come along on Tuesday at lunchtime, in this room. See if you enjoy it and, if you do, you can always come back."

Thomas grins widely, nodding. "Okay," he agrees, and now he's a lot happier than he was five minutes ago. "Yeah, I'll be there."

She smiles, and he starts to leave but she calls on him when he reaches the door. He stops and turns around. "Thomas, that's an amazing talent you've got there. Don't waste it, and don't let anything get in the way of your writing so long as you enjoy it."

Thomas grins again. He doesn't plan on it.

***

Despite how hard he tries, Thomas doesn't find the boy that day. He skips lunch and stalks the halls, even checks all of the bathrooms again just in case. He literally checks every centimetre of the playground but he's nowhere and Thomas actually wants to _cry_.

When his mother picks him up, he slumps down in the front passenger seat, hugging his bag to his chest. His mother asks if he's alright, and he nods then begins to stare out of the window. She doesn't ask him anything else.

He doesn't go out to play that weekend. Instead, he spends both days in his room, eating food and watching YouTube because he has no enthusiasm to do anything else. His mother leaves him be most of the time, but come Sunday she seems to decide that enough is enough and she forces Thomas to come downstairs and talk to her because he's acting so out of character. Thomas reluctantly agrees and they both sit on the sofa and she forces him to look at her, and she says to tell her what's going on because there's clearly something wrong and there has been for days.

Thomas doesn't say anything, so she asks if he's had a fight with Minho or Alby because she hasn't seen them all weekend and usually Thomas is with them every single day. He shakes his head, and then she shouts at him to talk to her. It's not loud yelling, not angry at all but it's enough to make Thomas burst into tears because this is so frustrating.

He just wants to help, make the boy happy, wants to see him again and be his friend but he can't and he hates it.

His mother holds him until he finally calms down, and she decides against making him talk for now and instead she makes up some snacks and they sit and they watch films until Thomas falls asleep.

He dreams of the boy and flower crowns.

***

Monday morning, Thomas's mother asks again if he wants to stay home from school. Thomas is actually tempted to say _yes_ , but he doesn't want to risk missing the boy. Again, she tells him to go to a teacher if he doesn't feel up for it and, this time, Thomas agrees and he means it.

She drives him in, later this time so he makes it inside just before the first bell goes. He makes it to his first class and just sits down when the bell rings, Minho asking him questions immediately. He asks where Thomas was this weekend, why he never came over to hang out, why he looks so sad and why he isn't talking.

Thomas just says he isn't feeling well and turns his attention to the teacher.

It's chemistry, and it's not a class Thomas particularly loves (he enjoys it, sure, but nothing like he is with English) so he very quickly finds himself zoning out, thinking about nothing in particular but also thinking about everything. When the teacher asks him a question, Thomas feels the entire class staring at him and his cheeks burn, and he mumbles something about not knowing the answer so the teacher sighs and asks someone else. He can feel Minho staring at him long after everybody turns their attention back to the teacher and he stares at his hands, ears tinged red. Normally, Thomas doesn't mind attention like this - if he doesn't know an answer, he just says and he's fine - but everything is affecting him so much more and he feels like a failure.

About a minute later, a piece of paper is slid over to him. Thomas reads: _whats wrong? dont lie to me!!_

He glances at Minho, who's looking at the teacher but Thomas knows he isn't paying attention. He wants to ignore it, because he can't explain, but he has to reply. He doesn't want Minho to think he's ignoring him.

So he writes: _nothing. just tired_.

He slides it back and hears Minho sigh deeply a second later. Thomas refuses to look over, knows he'll see disappointment so he opens his book and begins to take random notes, pretending he's actually paying attention so Minho will stop asking. It works, and Thomas spends the rest of the lesson trying to get some work done.

Just because he can't find this boy, it doesn't mean his whole life has to stop. This boy doesn't control him.

Except, he does, and Thomas can feel his stomach dropping at the realisation.

He wants to cry in frustration. This isn't fair.

 _At all_.

***

The day passes agonisingly slowly, and, by lunch, Thomas is so close to taking his mother up on the offer of going home. He can't find the boy, at all. And, honestly, Thomas is beginning to think he made him up, that he never existed.

(But he could never have imagined someone so beautiful, so that idea is gone just as quickly as it arrives.)

He's been avoiding his friends, too. Didn't turn up at morning break, and sat away from them in his classes so they couldn't pester him with questions he can't answer. He doesn't want to be rude, to make them think he doesn't want to talk to them, but he _can't_ talk to them. Can't talk to anyone.

They wouldn't understand. _Thomas_ doesn't even understand.

At the beginning of lunch, Thomas finds himself making his way to the nurse's office to get her to phone his mother when he hears yelling from down the hall. He doesn't want to, but his curiosity gets the better of him and he follows the noise until he reaches a large crowd, gathered around a set of lockers. He's confused, but then he makes sense of their shouts; they're yelling, _"Fight! Fight! Fight!"_

Thomas's stomach twists and he moves closer, hoping to see who's at the centre of everyone's attention. But the people are too tall, he can't see beyond them. So he pushes his way through the crowd, determined to see but then he freezes.

It's the boy.

And he's on the floor, cowered against the lockers. He's shielding his face with his arms, knees pulled close to his chest and he's crying. Thomas's eyes fly to the person causing this; he's tall, big build, short dirty blond hair, and he's got this sick grin spread across his face and Thomas can feel his cheeks burn with anger.

Then he notices the flower crown. It's crushed on the floor a couple of metres away from the boy, petals drooping and that's what makes Thomas snap. He shoves the bully up against the lockers, and, honestly, he doesn't know what he would have done but that doesn't matter because suddenly he hears, "What is the meaning of this?!" and a teacher is coming and the other kids are running away and Thomas takes a step back and tries to remember to breathe.

The teacher is yelling but Thomas isn't listening, still focused on the boy huddled up against the lockers, still crying and sniffling and Thomas wants to help him but the teacher is sending Thomas and the bully to the headteacher's office and she's talking to the boy so Thomas does as he's told, because it's just dawned on him that he's gotten into a fight.

He's going to be in so much trouble.

***

Thomas is trembling when the headteacher calls him in. He's told to take a seat on the chair at the other side of the desk and he's terrified but the headteacher speaks softly: "Okay, Thomas, why don't you tell me what happened?"

Thomas blinks, but does as he's told. He says he heard shouting, and he saw the boy crying and he had to help, had to make it stop and he's sorry for fighting but he just got so angry and he couldn't help it, had to do something.

The headteacher nods, as if he understands. He says that Thomas isn't in too much trouble, because he just wanted to help, but if it happens again then further action will need to be taken. Thomas nods, and then the headteacher says that they need to phone his mother and he drops his head.

She's going to be so disappointed.

He's told to wait outside the office again until she turns up and his mind drifts to the boy, the sound of his crying and Thomas wonders where he is. The image of the destroyed flower crown appears in his mind, and Thomas realises that the reason the boy didn't have the flower crown on Tuesday was probably because he's being bullied for it, that people are making fun of him for wearing something that makes him look so incredibly beautiful that Thomas's heart hurts.

Then his mother turns up, and she's flushed and clearly stressed and Thomas feels his chest tighten as she's taken into the office to talk to the headteacher. He's left outside, waiting and panicking, trying to prepare himself for the anger he's about to suffer when she comes back out.

She doesn't say anything when she appears again, and Thomas follows her to the car. He sits in the front passenger seat, staring at his hands, as his mother stares at him. And he's terrified, because he's never gotten in trouble at school, never been involved in a fight and she's _never_ been disappointed in him. She's always proud.

But not now.

She doesn't actually sound angry when she tells Thomas to give her his side of the story. Thomas hesitates, wondering if this is some sort of trap and she's lulling him into a false sense of security. But he explains. He says he saw this boy on Monday, and he looked sad so he gave him a hug to cheer him up. He says he saw the boy again on Tuesday, in the school bathrooms and he was crying and Thomas hugged him until he stopped because he wanted to help. He says he didn't see him on Wednesday or Thursday _or_ Friday, which is why he was so upset because he just wanted to help him and make him happy because it actually hurts him to see him so sad. And he says that, when he saw the boy crying in the hallway, he snapped.

And then he's crying because he's sorry and he didn't mean to get into a fight and he doesn't want her to be disappointed in him but she pulls him over into her lap and holds him, telling him to _ssh_ because she's not angry, she's not disappointed. In fact, she's proud because Thomas just wanted to help and he knows he shouldn't have started that fight and that fills him with so much relief that he cries again, but they're happy tears.

She says she's going to take him in extra early tomorrow so that Thomas has more time to find the boy, and, if he does find him, she says to invite him over. She says she's so proud of Thomas for doing everything he can to help this boy, that she couldn't have asked for a more amazing son. That Thomas is so sweet and wonderful that he's going to be able to help this boy. And she tells Thomas not to give up on him.

Thomas doesn't think he ever will.

***

The next morning, Thomas is filled with a new sense of determination. He _is_ going to find this boy, he knows it. He just has to look harder, not get so frustrated, and give it time. Have patience, because it will happen eventually. He just has to believe.

Just like she said she would, Thomas's mother takes him in early. She tells him to remember what she said, to not give up because this boy needs Thomas and Thomas nods, smiling. He rushes inside, shoves his bag in his locker, and looks.

He doesn't find him, but he doesn't give up hope. English is his first class again, and he sits with Minho, who notices his boost in happiness. Thomas apologises for the way he's been acting the past week, says he was just upset about something but it's okay now. Minho grins, and says he's glad to have his friend back, glad that Thomas is okay now but to remember that if he _is_ upset about something, Minho will always be here for him, and Alby, too. Thomas says he knows, and then the teacher starts talking.

At the end of the class, the teacher calls him to the front just before he leaves. She reminds him that the club is on today which, honestly, Thomas had forgotten about but now that he's been reminded, his happiness just increases and he smiles through all his classes, all the way to lunch.

He eats his lunch quickly, eager to get to the club early. Minho and Alby are still eating when he says goodbye, packing away his rubbish and he shoves his lunchbox into his locker before he rushes to his English classroom. Honestly, he can't contain his excitement. This is his chance to maybe make some new friends who - hopefully - share his creativity. But he stops abruptly in the doorway when he notices who's sitting at the back of the classroom.

It's the boy. He's _in this club_ and Thomas's heart begins to pound in his chest.

"Hi, Thomas!" says his teacher suddenly, loudly and cheerfully and the boy's head snaps up at Thomas's name, eyes wide. As soon as he makes eye contact with Thomas, he drops his gaze immediately, focusing on the piece of paper he seems to be drawing on. "Come on in," she continues, standing up to come closer. Thomas obliges, steps inside. "You're early, not many people are here yet."

She's right - it's just the boy and, obviously, Thomas himself. He nods, can't find his voice and, before he knows it, his legs are carrying him to the back of the room and towards the boy. He stops next to his desk, taking a seat in the chair next to him. "Hi," he squeaks, voice shaky and nervous and Thomas blushes slightly.

The boy jumps at the sound of his voice, but seems adamant to act as if Thomas isn't there. He isn't wearing his flower crown, just his usual messy blond hair (which, in itself, does mad things to Thomas's heart) and Thomas can feel his blood boil ever-so-slightly at the thought of anybody trying to hurt him. Thomas frowns, wants the boy to at least look at him so Thomas can look into those beautiful eyes again.

"Do you want another hug?" he asks because he can't think of what else to say. The boy shakes his head slightly, and Thomas can see his hand trembling where he's holding the pencil, trying to draw. Then Thomas notices the drawing.

It's a portrait of a boy, with dark hair, and he's smiling. And it's amazing, absolutely brilliant and Thomas's mouth falls open as he continues to stare.

That's when he realises: the drawing is of him.

It's just as he realises that that the boy notices his staring and immediately snaps him sketchbook shut, pulling it to his chest. His eyes are wide and Thomas doesn't know what to think because, sure, the boy is drawing a picture of him, but now that Thomas has a good look of his face, he sees the bruise on his cheek, undoubtedly from that bully the day before. He reaches forward, feeling a sudden need to stroke the boy's cheek, try to comfort and soothe the probable pain, but the boy flinches away, apparently thinking that Thomas is going to hit him.

That makes Thomas pull away immediately and he's rushing out apologies, until the boy opens his eyes again. Thomas then changes the subject because they boy clearly doesn't want to talk about it. "Why are you drawing a picture of me?"

But that seems to be too forward because the boy's breath hitches, and then he's standing up and he's rushing out of the room. But Thomas won't let him go this time, and he runs after him, ignoring the teacher's shouts for them.

"Wait!" he yells, chasing the boy down the corridor. " _Please_!"

Surprisingly, the boy stops. He's still facing away from Thomas, but Thomas knows he's listening.

"Look, I just..." Thomas starts, but he trails off. Why does this keep happening? Every time he wants to talk to the boy, he can't seem to form the words properly. This doesn't happen with anyone else. "I'm not angry, if that's what you think," he finally gets out. "O-Or upset. Just curious." The boy doesn't reply, so Thomas continues. He _knows_ he can make him talk. "Please? I really, really want to be your friend. I want to help you. You always seem so sad and I hate it, I want to make you happy. But I kind of need you to talk to me if I'm going to be able to do that."

Silence. Thomas is just beginning to think that the boy won't say anything when he hears, "She said to make something that depicts something of significance to us." It's quiet but _oh god_. Thomas's heart almost melts; the boy has a thick British accent and it's absolutely _beautiful_. Then the boy turns around, slowly, and looks at Thomas. "I picked you. You helped me, cheered me up when I was upset. No other person would have done that, especially not for a stranger. But you did. And it scared me, so I avoided you. I saw you looking for me, but I was scared. Didn't want to let you get close only for you to end up hating me. But then yesterday you stopped that bully. You protected me, and no one's ever done that before. And the teacher told me yesterday that the challenge for next week was to make something to show something that's important to us. So I picked you, and I show things through drawings." He takes a breath. "That's why I'm drawing you."

Thomas is silent. He doesn't know what to say. For once, he's actually lost for words. His mouth opens and closes and he _wants_ to talk, but he can't form any words. Instead, he steps closer, the boy staring at him with wide eyes, and just pulls him in for a hug because that's all he _can_ do. The boy is tensed at first, but soon relaxes and wraps his arms around Thomas (which is kind of hard, considering the sketchbook he's still holding). "I'll always help," he mumbles, and then he pulls away. "Promise."

The boy frowns, brow creased and it's adorable. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

Thomas flashes a lopsided grin. He hasn't got any intention of breaking that promise. "You underestimate me," he says. "But seriously. I'll always be there, if you ever need me, no matter what. Okay? Don't be scared that I'll hate you or anything, because I promise that I won't. Just promise me you'll let me know if you need me."

Then the boy smiles, and Thomas is sure he dies because his heart stops, stomach twists and it's so damn beautiful that he can't handle it and he has to remind himself to _breathe_. "Okay, I promise."

Thomas feels relief fill him, ridding of that anxious, tense feeling Thomas has been experiencing for over a week. He finally feels like he could fly again, and he's happy and his heart isn't heavy and _this_ is what heaven must feel like. They start walking back to the classroom but Thomas stops suddenly, shouting, "Wait!" The boy stops, giving Thomas a quizzical look. "What's your name?"

The boy swallows, looking startled. "Um... Newt."

It's then that Thomas is sure: _Newt, you're going to be the death of me_.

***

Throughout the rest of lunch, Thomas asks Newt a bunch of questions that have been circling his head for the past week. He finds out that Newt's in his year, just in a bunch of different classes. He tends to spend his lunch times in the playground, underneath that tree that Thomas first saw him beneath, and he'll either draw, read, or make flower crowns. That sparks a new question in Thomas, and he asks Newt where his flower crown is today.

The question makes Newt duck his head, avoiding Thomas's gaze as he stares down at his sketchbook. Thomas frowns, noticing the boy's uneasiness. Then the boy mumbles something about just not feeling like it and Thomas knows it's a lie but he doesn't want to push him, so he drops it. Instead, just a few minutes before the bell goes, he asks the boy if he wants to come over tonight for dinner. The boy's eyes widen, as if he never could've expected someone to ever ask him that, let alone Thomas. But he nods, and Thomas writes down his address and gives it to him before he goes to leave. 

The teacher calls him over just as he reaches the door and he obliges, moving over to her desk. "It's just about the challenge for next week," she tells him. "I was thinking you'd want to enter what you wrote in class last week."

Thomas opens his mouth to talk, but he can't figure out what to say. Honestly, he's forgotten about that. His cheeks flush, and he glances at the boy at the back of the class; he's packing his stuff away, and he's sporting a small frown and just looking at him makes Thomas's heart flutter. He nods, though, and grabs his notebook from his bag, handing it to his teacher. She smiles at him, and Thomas leaves.

And if he spends his last class only thinking about Newt, no one has to know.

***

His mother is making spaghetti bolognese, and Thomas is sitting in the kitchen, leg bouncing nervously. She laughs at his nerves, saying she's never seen him this anxious before, not even on the first day of school. Thomas tries for a smile but his heart is pounding with the anticipation.

Then there's a knock at the front door and Thomas jumps. He follows his mother to the door, hands fiddling with each other as she unlocks it. She answers with a smile, and Thomas hides behind it, listening. He can hear who sounds like Newt's mother, and she sounds happy and she says that she'll come to pick Newt up around seven o'clock. Then she tells Newt to have fun, and Thomas's mother welcomes the boy in and then Newt's there and the door closes and Thomas doesn't know how, but in these last few hours, Newt seems to have gotten even more beautiful and he takes a deep breath to compose himself.

"Hi," he chirps, grinning, and Newt sends him a shy smile. His hair is still messy, but there's also still no flower crown and it hurts Thomas a lot more than it should.

"You must be Newt," Thomas's mother says, and Newt blinks up at her, eyelashes thick and eyes glistening. "I've heard a lot about you," she continues, and Thomas feels his cheeks heat up, staring at the ground.

He can feel Newt watching him intently, but Thomas doesn't lift his gaze until his mother returns to the kitchen. "D'you wanna come upstairs?" he asks, fingers fiddling nervously. "We can watch a film or something."

Newt smiles. "That'd be really nice."

***

They spend the evening watching the first Harry Potter film, and then Thomas's mother calls them down for dinner. Whilst they eat, she asks Newt questions. Like how the two of them first met (even though Thomas has already told her, but hearing it again from Newt seems to put a proud smile on her face), what his favourite class is, and what his hobbies are.

When Newt's own mother comes to pick him up, Thomas can't help the emptiness that fills him. He pulls Newt into a hug before he leaves and, honestly, Thomas never wants to let go. Wants to hold him forever, protect him from the world that doesn't seem to want to accept him for who he is. Eventually, though, he has to pull away, but it's worth it to see the small smile on Newt's lips. He tells Newt to meet him in the playground before school tomorrow morning and, intrigued, Newt agrees.

They say goodbye, and, as soon as Newt is gone, Thomas is upstairs and googling _how to make a flower crown_.

***

Thomas holds the box in his shaking hands as he paces the playground nervously. His mother had asked him if he wanted her to stay but he'd shaken his head, saying he just wants it to be himself and Newt. She'd told him again that he's doing something absolutely wonderful, and then she'd left.

Now Thomas is trembling, heart pounding and he's beginning to wonder if this wasn't such a good idea. But then Newt is walking towards him, wearing his usual small frown and messy blond hair and Thomas knows: for this boy, he'd do anything.

Newt stops in front of Thomas, eyes narrowed and Thomas knows he's confused but his own nerves immediately disappear. He hands the box to Newt, who takes it hesitantly. "Open it," Thomas tells him.

Newt kneels down, placing the box on the ground and he lifts the lid off, freezing when he sees what's inside. It's a beautiful blue flower crown that Thomas spent hours crafting last night and, sure, it's not perfect, but Thomas is honestly proud.

Newt stares up at Thomas with a small frown and Thomas knows that he's scared and he's confused and he doesn't know how to react. So he kneels down in front of him, at the other side of the box, and lifts the flower crown. 

"At first," he says, "this was going to be a symbol of our friendship. I made it because I know you love them and I think they make you look beautiful." He blushes when he realises that he just said that out loud, but doesn't falter. "But I knew you'd be scared, and you wouldn't want to wear it because people will make fun of you, and they'll hurt you for it." His gaze drifts to the bruise on Newt's cheek. "So, it's also a promise. A promise from you that you're going to be yourself, and you'll be comfortable wearing what _you_ want to wear. And it's a promise from me. A promise of protection, a promise that I'll always be here, and I'll always keep you safe. A promise that I'll never judge you, and I'll always accept you for who you are."

Newt whimpers, pawing at his tear-filled eyes, and Thomas takes this opportunity to lay the flower crown on Newt's head, intertwining it with parts of Newt's hair. Newt smiles, despite his tears, and sniffles. "Thank you, Tommy."

Thomas's stomach twists at the nickname. His mother stopped calling him that years ago, and, normally, he hates that nickname, but it sounds like _home_ when Newt says it. He holds out his hand, ready for Newt to take. "C'mon," he says.

Without hesitation, Newt grabs Thomas's hand, and Thomas silently promises that he's never going to let Newt go.


	2. Let Go And Just Be Free, I Will Love You Unconditionally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first thing Thomas notices is the rain. It's absolutely pouring, raindrops bouncing on the road and pavement, and it looks like it's about to storm. The wind is whistling, and the trees seem like they're barely resisting its strength.
> 
> The second thing he notices is Newt, in a damn t-shirt that's completely soaked through, and no jacket. His hair is flat against his forehead, arms folded across his chest as if he's trying to keep himself warm.
> 
> The third thing, and by far the most heartbreaking thing, that Thomas notices is the tears. Newt's eyes are glistening, tear tracks evident down his cheeks even amongst the rain, and he looks seconds away from a breakdown.
> 
> "Oh my god, Newt, get in!" Thomas urges, grabbing the boy's arm and yanking him inside before Newt even has a chance to react.

Thomas notices Newt's change in behaviour immediately.

They're fifteen, and usually the two of them are inseparable. They spend every possible moment together, always hugging or cuddling or even holding hands. They're labelled as best friends, yet they feel even closer than that.

But Newt's been acting weird for weeks. Whenever Thomas will pull him in for a hug, he'll hug back but it'll be tense, almost awkward and it doesn't feel right. He won't cuddle with Thomas when they're watching films anymore - he'll always make sure that there's space between the two of them. And whenever Thomas reaches to take his hand, he'll yank his own hand away without hesitation, and then he'll change the topic if Thomas brings it up.

Thomas is beginning to think he's somehow angered or upset him in some way. Newt never acts like this with him. Sometimes, if he's in a bad mood, he'll go quiet and he won't talk much, but that's usually when he's the most accepting of Thomas's physical comfort. So every time Newt pulls away, Thomas's heart breaks a little more.

He tries to bring it up. Corners Newt one lunch before they head to the hall, asks him what's going on because Thomas _knows_ something's wrong. But Newt feigns a small smile (and, even though Thomas can see the sadness in his eyes, he doesn't mention it), says it's nothing, that Thomas is just overreacting. And Thomas wants to push him, keep asking until Newt tells him the truth but he knows that will upset the boy even more. And if Thomas can help it, he won't do anything to upset Newt.

It's about nine o'clock one night, and Thomas is home alone. He's in the living room, curled up on the sofa and he's trying to pay attention to whatever's on the TV but he can't focus. His mind keeps wandering, thinking, trying to figure out what's wrong with his best friend, and it's giving him a headache. But Newt's worth it.

He jumps when there's a knock at the front door, and he stares at it with wide eyes because _who the hell is that_? Shaking himself out of his daze, he tiptoes towards the door, and, after a moment of deliberation, he opens it.

The first thing Thomas notices is the rain. It's absolutely _pouring_ , raindrops bouncing on the road and pavement, and it looks like it's about to storm. The wind is whistling, and the trees seem like they're barely resisting its strength.

The second thing he notices is Newt, in a damn _t-shirt_ that's completely soaked through, and _no jacket_. His hair is flat against his forehead, arms folded across his chest as if he's trying to keep himself warm.

The third thing, and by far the most heartbreaking thing, that Thomas notices is the tears. Newt's eyes are glistening, tear tracks evident down his cheeks even amongst the rain, and he looks seconds away from a breakdown.

"Oh my god, Newt, _get in_!" Thomas urges, grabbing the boy's arm and yanking him inside before Newt even has a chance to react. He stands the boy up straight, glancing over him. "What the _hell_ are you doing?"

Newt sniffles, and Thomas doesn't know if it's the tears or if he's getting sick. "I had to see you. I need to tell you something."

Thomas sighs, but there's a tremble in Newt's voice that he knows isn't from the cold. He notices the boy is shivering, though, the goosebumps that have formed on his arms, and he needs to get Newt some warm, dry clothes. He shakes his head, incredulous, and goes to grab Newt's hand to pull him upstairs.

Despite the past few weeks, he's still surprised and incredibly hurt when Newt flinches away from him.

"C'mon," Thomas says instead, noting how Newt avoids his gaze but lets Thomas lead him upstairs anyways. They go to Thomas's room, and Thomas raids his drawers to find the most comfortable clothes he can. He shoves them into Newt's hands when he finds them, and says, "Go get changed." Newt nods slightly, still not looking at Thomas, and begins to head towards the bathroom. Just before he disappears inside, Thomas adds, "And dry your hair!"

He sits on the edge of his bed, fingers dancing along his thighs as the nerves fill him. Newt needs to tell him something, and he's trying so desperately to figure out what could be so important that Newt had to come over _now_. Sure, it's quite normal for them to turn up at the other's house during the night either because they're lonely, or sad and need cheering up, or simply because they miss the other, but this seems like it was an impulsive decision because Newt didn't even put on a _jacket_.

Then the boy returns, wearing clothes that are slightly too big and drape lazily around his small frame. And his hair is a complete mess, even more so than normal and Thomas's heart stutters in his chest because he is _beautiful_. Newt dumps his clothes in Thomas's laundry basket, and turns to face him but, as before, he avoids Thomas's gaze.

Thomas tries not to be hurt by it, because this is about _Newt_. He's clearly stressed about something, something that he needs to tell Thomas and Thomas is only going to focus on him right now (not that he ever focuses on anything else).

"Come sit down," Thomas says.

Newt hesitates, but, keeping his head down, he makes his way over to Thomas's bed. He climbs on and leans against the wall, knees pulled close to his chest. Thomas gives him a second to get comfortable before he does the same. He's sure to make sure there's distance between them, give Newt breathing space and not make him feel like he's suffocating. Besides, he knows that, for some reason, Newt doesn't _want_ his physical comfort right now.

He sits cross-legged about an arm's length in front of Newt, near enough that he can move closer and pull Newt into his chest if he starts crying any more than he is now. Newt is staring off to his right, away from Thomas completely but Thomas won't mention it, won't say anything. He'll let Newt talk, give him all of the time he needs.

"I think..." Newt begins, finally, but he trails off, taking a shuddering breath. His gaze drops to his knees and Thomas can see how desperately he's trying not to let the tears spill over right now. "Tommy, I don't know how to say it."

"Hey," Thomas whispers, sending a small, encouraging smile even though Newt can't see it. He lifts his hand to Newt's arm, rubs small, soothing circles onto his forearm. Newt doesn't pull away. "It's okay. Whatever it is, take your time. I'm right here."

Newt pulls his sleeves over his hands, wiping at his eyes as he lets out a small sob. He breathes deeply, trying to compose himself. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Thomas promises. Newt shakes his head, but doesn't argue.

"I _can't_ ," Newt whimpers. His hands move to his hair, tangling in the messy locks as he pulls in frustration.

Thomas frowns, whispering  _stop that_ as he pulls Newt's hands away and into his own lap. "Come on, Newt. Talk to me, buddy, you know you can tell me anything."

Newt nods, finally, lifting his gaze slightly. He's still not looking Thomas in the eye, but it's an improvement. He takes a deep breath, focusing on what he needs to say. "Tommy, I think I'm gay," he finally manages to get out.

"Okay," Thomas whispers, nodding, but Newt flashes him a hurt glare at the response.

"' _Okay_ '?! You're... you're supposed to bloody  _hate_ me, this isn't-"

Newt cuts himself off with a loud sob, and Thomas swears his heart shatters right there and then. Newt's been terrified, worrying about this for weeks, _months_ even, thinking that Thomas is going to hate him because he's gay.

" _God_ , Newt," Thomas mumbles, wrapping his arms around Newt's waist and pulling the boy onto his lap. Newt curls up instinctively, nose pressed into the juncture between Thomas's neck and shoulder. Thomas rests his cheek on Newt's hair, eyes closing to stop his own tears from falling because both of them crying won't get them anywhere. He exhales slowly, trying to calm himself but Newt is positively freaking out and Thomas doesn't know how to stop it, not really. "Ssh, it's okay." But Newt keeps shaking his head, adamant that it _isn't okay_ and Thomas tightens his hold on the boy.

"I'm sorry," Newt whimpers, broken and crying and now it's Thomas's turn to shake his head because _no, Newt, you shouldn't be sorry_.

" _Stop_ it," he near yells, angry but not at Newt, at whoever made Newt this scared that his own best friend won't love him for who he is. "Just... listen to me, okay?" Newt sniffles, trembling, but Thomas feels him nod into his chest. "Do you remember that flower crown I gave you? When we were twelve?" He feels Newt tense up at the mention of that, but he does nod again, slower this time, more hesitant. "Do you remember what I said it meant?" Newt pauses before he nods this time, but Thomas won't take that as an answer. "Tell me. Tell me what it meant."

Newt sniffles, hiccuping, and Thomas isn't actually sure if he's going to talk or not. But he does. "It was a promise that you'd always protect me," he whispers, voice breaking a couple of times and he sounds so close to breaking down again that Thomas can only tighten his hold as much as he can, pulling Newt's head close against his chest.

"What else?"

Newt shifts. "You said that... it was a promise that you'd always accept me for who I am. You'd never judge me."

Thomas smiles into Newt's hair, feels the boy relax slightly at the reminder. "I promised you forever, Newt. That I'd never leave you. The fact that you're gay," he begins, tries to ignore the way Newt flinches at the word, "That doesn't change anything. You're still my best friend, and nothing will ever change that. Do you hear me?"

Newt cries again, moving so he can wraps his arms around Thomas's neck and he sobs into Thomas's shoulder. Thomas's arms slip around the boy's waist, hands rubbing up and down the boy's back. "Tommy," he whispers.

Thomas shushes him, nuzzles his nose behind Newt's ear. "I know," he says, because he does. He doesn't need Newt to say it.

Newt trembles and shakes and cries and Thomas just holds him, hands rubbing gentle circles onto Newt's back. He can't believe that Newt's been wrestling with this on his own for months, too scared to tell his best friend the truth. Too scared that Thomas will hate him, but that could never happen. Thomas could never, _will_ never turn his back on Newt, will never reject him or who he is. He couldn't dream of it. Newt means too much to him to ever lose.

He holds Newt close, scared to let go, until, eventually, Newt's sobs die down into sniffles and small whimpers. Thomas calms down himself a little at that, and pulls away a little. "Get under the quilt," he tells Newt. Then, he's rushing downstairs and he turns off the TV and all of the lights. He returns to his room quickly, but finds himself freezing in the doorway when he sees Newt lying down, staring blankly at the wall. He watches, a warm feeling filling him.

"You just gonna bloody stand there?" Newt asks, a hint of humour in his voice.

Thomas finds himself smiling a little. Newt still sounds sad, scared, nervous, but at least a little bit of his personality has returned. "Shut up," Thomas mumbles. He climbs under the covers, behind Newt. He hesitates to move too close, conscious of the fact that Newt hasn't wanted his physical comfort at all these past few weeks. But he shakes himself out of his daze; he knows Newt needs this, needs Thomas to just hold him. 

So Thomas does.

He shuffles closer, arm wrapping around Newt's waist as he pulls Newt's back into his chest. Thomas hears Newt sigh contentedly, and he finally lets himself calm down completely. "Don't ever avoid me like that again," he warns, voice quiet. "You can tell me anything, I couldn't ever hate you."

He feels Newt nod a little bit. "I know, Tommy. I'm sorry."

Thomas doesn't reply to that. Instead, he reaches his hand for Newt's and squeezes, a silent promise that _it's okay_. He intertwines their fingers and finally, _finally_ , he feels Newt relax completely. This is what Thomas lives for, what keeps him sane. He's got Newt here, now, and he's _Newt_. He's completely open, no walls put up. This is the Newt that only ever shows himself to _Thomas_ , that only trusts _Thomas_ enough to be completely himself. And Thomas loves it, revels in it. Loves that _he_ is the one that has this effect on Newt, no one else.

As he lets his eyes slip shut, sleep taking over now his head isn't plagued with worry, Thomas presses his nose into the back of Newt's neck. He pulls the boy as close as he can, and Thomas never, _ever_ wants to let go.


	3. The Trick Is To Keep Breathing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wishes he could be doing something else right now, anything else because his brain hurts and it's thinking about everything except Chemistry and that's what Thomas needs to be thinking about right now.
> 
> As if on cue, his phone starts vibrating on his desk. Now, if Thomas had any sense of self-control, he'd probably ignore it and continue with failing to study. But it's Newt, and he can't find it in himself to ignore it so he accepts and presses his phone to his ear.
> 
> "Hey," he says with a small grin, happy now that he's got a proper distraction.
> 
> But his grin drops immediately when he hears loud, laboured breaths coming from Newt's end of the call. "Tommy," Newt whimpers, voice tiny and broken and terrified.

Newt has his first panic attack when he's thirteen.

Thomas is sat at his desk in his room, staring blankly at a textbook as he tries to take in what's written in it. Unsurprisingly, it isn't working very well. He sighs, resting his chin on his hand and groans to himself. He hates trying to do homework, hates trying to study because he can never focus for long enough to actually _learn_ anything. His mother pops in at some point, armed with a sandwich and a drink and she asks him how it's going. He just bangs his head on the desk with a sigh in reply.

He wishes he could be doing something else right now, _anything_ else because his brain hurts and it's thinking about everything _except_ Chemistry and that's what Thomas needs to be thinking about right now.

As if on cue, his phone starts vibrating on his desk. Now, if Thomas had any sense of self-control, he'd probably ignore it and continue with failing to study. But it's Newt, and he can't find it in himself to ignore it so he accepts and presses his phone to his ear.

"Hey," he says with a small grin, happy now that he's got a proper distraction.

But his grin drops immediately when he hears loud, laboured breaths coming from Newt's end of the call. " _Tommy_ ," Newt whimpers, voice tiny and broken and _terrified_.

Thomas stands immediately, preparing himself. "Newt? What's going on? What's wrong?" He's already moving downstairs, knowing without a doubt that he's going to be heading to Newt's house once this phone call is over.

"I-I don't- _I don't know_ ," Newt whines. His voice is shaky, trembling and it makes Thomas's stomach churn. He rarely ever hears Newt like this, so scared, and he's trying to figure out what's happening but he _can't_. His mother stares at him as he heads over to his shoes, sending him a small, questioning frown but Thomas can only shrug slightly because he doesn't know what to say. "I ca-can't _breathe_ , Tommy."

Thomas's heart stops for a second, and then he's balancing his phone between his ear and his shoulder and he's pulling on his shoes and his jacket and he can feel his mother still staring at him but he ignores her, focusing on Newt. "Okay, it's okay. I'll be there in two minutes, Newt. Okay? Two minutes, I promise."

Newt lets out a shaky sob in response but he hangs up and Thomas just mumbles something about having to go _right now_ to his mother before he's out the door and he's sprinting towards Newt's house. Newt only lives on the next street, so it's barely even a minute before Thomas is running up to the house, breaths coming in short pants. He knows that the back door is always open, so he hops over the fence into the garden and rushes inside.

"Newt?" he yells the second the door closes behind him. He doesn't get a reply, so he makes his way upstairs, climbing the stairs two steps at a time and hurries into Newt's room.

For a split second, it seems empty. But then the sound of choked sobs fills Thomas's ears and he turns, seeing Newt huddled in the corner, crying into his arms. Thomas scrambles over, dropping to his knees in front of the boy. "Newt," he gasps, and Newt's head snaps up.

Newt's eyes are wide and tear-filled. His skin is pale and his chest is rising and falling far too quickly to be normal. "Tommy, m-make it s- _stop_ ," he sobs, breath hitching and he's wheezing and his hands are trembling. Thomas grabs his hands with his own, holding them still and rubbing his thumbs across Newt's knuckles.

But he doesn't know what to do, doesn't know how to fix this. Newt's breaths are becoming considerably shorter and he really _can't breathe_. "Where's your mum?" Thomas asks, lifting a hand to Newt's jaw, cupping the side of his face. He can feel the boy's pulse jack-rabbiting beneath his skin, his heart racing and Thomas's own heart fills with panic.

Newt shakes his head as if to say he doesn't know and Thomas shuts his eyes for a moment because he doesn't know how to handle this. He wraps his arms around Newt's waist to pull him close but Newt flinches away from him, eyes widening in alarm and he inhales sharply but that just makes the boy cough and he's spluttering, trying to breathe but he can't and he sobs, terrified. 

Thomas pulls him close anyways, pulls Newt right into his chest and Newt immediately buries his nose into Thomas's neck. And he's shaking so much, sobbing and crying and he just can't seem to breathe and now Thomas is beginning to panic himself because this is his best friend and _he doesn't know what to do_. 

" _Please_ , Tommy," Newt cries and it's like a fist clenching Thomas's heart, feels like a punch to the gut and he flinches at the sound of Newt's voice.

"I know," Thomas whispers into Newt's ear and he presses a kiss to the side of Newt's head and it's supposed to be comforting but it just makes Newt whimper and shake. "I think... Newt, I think this is a panic attack," he tries to explain. Newt shakes his head slightly, and Thomas holds him closer because if this _is_ a panic attack then Newt must actually be petrified right now and Thomas has to help him. "It's okay, you're going to be okay. You just have to try to breathe."

But Newt sobs loudly and then he's freaking out even more and he's trying to curl up, but Thomas keeps him still, grasping Newt's hand. "I-I _can't_ ," Newt wheezes and Thomas's hand clenches into a fist because _he knows_ but he doesn't have any idea how he can help.

He curses into Newt's hair before an idea hits him and he lifts his head. "Can you feel my heartbeat?" he asks, pressing Newt's hand to his chest. Newt's hand immediately grasps Thomas's shirt, but he's mumbling out a small _y-yeah_. "Okay, good." Thomas swallows and he prays that this works because, if it doesn't, he's out of ideas. _Completely_. "I want you to focus on that. Can you do that?" Newt nods but he's trembling so much, breaths so short that they're almost non-existent. Thomas squeezes his eyes shut, trying to calm himself down. "Good, that's good. Focus on my heartbeat, Newt, and listen to my breathing. I need you to try and make yours match mine."

Newt's shaking his head immediately, whimpering that he _can't_ , but Thomas disagrees. He presses his mouth to the top of Newt's head, and says, "You can. I know you can." He presses a kiss there, lips lingering for a second longer than they need to but he doesn't care. "Just close your eyes, Newt. Close your eyes, and listen."

Newt does. He lets his eyes fall shut, tightens his grip on Thomas's t-shirt and presses his ear to Thomas's chest, listening. And he tries to breathe, inhales but it just makes his lungs burn and he sobs because, " _Tommy_ , it isn't w-working."

Thomas swallows, but he can't give up. This is the only thing he can do to try and help. "It will. I promise you, it will. Just keep trying, _please_ keep trying."

So Newt does. He listens again, waits longer this time. Focuses on Thomas's heartbeat, on his deep breaths and tries so hard to copy him. Again, it doesn't work; when he breathes in, his chest just tightens and he splutters. But he doesn't give up, because Thomas said it will work so it _has_ to. He tries again, and again, until, finally, he breathes in and he manages to hold it, if only for a second. But it's like a huge wave of relief washes over him as the breath fills him and he sobs but, this time, it's a relieved sob.

Thomas grins into Newt's hair, nuzzling his cheek into the messy locks. "Good, Newt, that's _perfect_."

And Thomas just holds him as, slowly, Newt finally regains control of his breathing. His fingers dance along Newt's arms in a way that he hopes is soothing, and he just stays silent, waiting for Newt to talk first.

Newt shudders, exhaling slowly now that he _can_. He lifts his head slightly and nuzzles his nose just beneath Thomas's jaw, eyes slipping shut as he shivers in Thomas's arms, and he hopes this works as a _thank you_ because he doesn't think he's going to be able to talk right now.

Thomas links their hands, fingers intertwining and Newt feels himself melt into Thomas's hold. He knows for a fact that only Thomas could have helped with this, knows that no one else would have been able to calm him down again. He lets out a small, content sigh.

"You feeling better now?" Thomas asks after a few more minutes of silence. Newt nods a little bit, because he feels a lot better, a lot calmer.

"'M tired, though," he mumbles, voice muffled slightly by Thomas's neck.

Thomas lets out a small laugh. "I'm not surprised," he says, squeezing Newt's hand. "What happened? D'you know what triggered it?"

Newt drops his head slightly, eyebrows furrowing. He pulls away from Thomas a little bit, but he still stays close, too afraid to let go. "I don't know," he sighs, disappointed, because that might upset Thomas if he can't explain it. "One second, I was fine, and then my head was spinning and I couldn't think straight and I couldn't _breathe_ and-"

" _Hey_ ," Thomas interrupts, conscious of the fact that Newt might end up riling himself up again. "It's okay."

Newt lets his eyes fall shut again, pressing his nose back underneath Thomas's jaw to cuddle impossibly closer. "Are you gonna tell my mum?" he whispers. He hopes that Thomas won't, because he doesn't want anyone else knowing. Thomas is the only person he trusts knowing something like this, something that makes him all the more vulnerable than he already is.

"No, I'm not," Thomas promises and Newt lets himself relax more now that he knows it's just between the two of them. "But if it happens again, I might have to," Thomas adds. Newt's heart drops a bit, but he understands. He just hopes that it doesn't happen again because he doesn't want to have to go through that again. "Newt, if it _does_ happen again, find me, okay? Whatever I'm doing, wherever I am, call me, or hunt me down and I will help you. I promise."

Newt feels the tears fill his eyes and he tries to will them away, to compose himself. "I know," he says quietly, because he does. He knows that Thomas would do anything for him and it fills him with this sense of warmth and security that nobody else can give him.

"Good that," Thomas says and Newt can practically hear him smiling.

Newt lets out a deep breath and, by this point, the exhaustion is almost taking over. He's fighting to keep his eyes open but it's hard and he just wants to sleep. "Tommy?" he asks. Thomas hums in answer, signalling for Newt to continue. "If we don't move soon, I'm gonna bloody fall asleep right here."

Thomas laughs with a small huff, and Newt finds himself smiling at the sound. "Yeah, okay," he says. He pulls away from Newt and stands up, holding his hand out for Newt to take. Newt yawns, hand gripping Thomas's as Thomas pulls him up. He sways for a moment, dizzy, feels Thomas's arm around his waist to steady him. Thomas kicks off his shoes and pulls off his jacket before Newt drags him over to the bed, ready to just collapse and pass out.

He climbs under the quilt, shuffles over to the wall and tugs Thomas down with him. Thomas sends him a lopsided grin, which Newt lazily returns, and he reaches over to Newt's desk to turn off the lamp before joining him under the quilt. Newt instinctively scrambles closer to Thomas, curling up into Thomas's chest as Thomas lies with his chest to Newt's back, one arm around Newt's waist, hand holding Newt's.

"Love you, Tommy," Newt whispers just before the sleep takes over.

"Love you, too," Thomas whispers back. Pressing his nose behind Newt's ear, he closes his eyes, slipping into the darkness.

***

It happens again two days later.

Thomas is in English, and they're reading. He's fully immersed, not paying attention to his surroundings and, for once, Minho isn't trying to distract him. Which is why he doesn't notice a teacher walking into the classroom and going to their own teacher, until Minho nudges his arm with his elbow. Thomas shoots him a glare, eyes narrowed, and Minho nods suggestively at the teachers talking at the front of the classroom. Thomas shrugs as if to say he doesn't know what they're talking about, which just makes Minho frown.

"Thomas?" comes a voice from the front and Thomas freezes, eyes wide. Both teachers are staring at him, and his own teacher says, "Can you go with her, please?"

Minho stares at Thomas as Thomas closes his book with shaking hands. He mentally goes over everything he's done this week, trying to figure out if he's done anything that could get him into trouble but he's sure he hasn't. He does as he's told, though, making his way to the front of the class.

"Follow me, please," the teacher says and Thomas does.

He follows her down the corridor, and they're turning a corner when he finally finds the courage to ask, "Excuse me, what's this about?"

The teacher glances at him, but sends him a reassuring smile. "We think we have a friend of yours in the nurse's office. He keeps asking for you."

Thomas's stomach drops and he almost stops moving, dread filling him. "Who?" he asks quietly, scared of the answer.

"Newt?" she offers, and, this time, Thomas does stop, just for a second. He wills himself to keep moving. Maybe it's nothing, maybe Newt is fine. But he knows that isn't true, because Newt wouldn't go to the nurse's office for just nothing.

"What's wrong with him?" His voice is thick, weak and he's terrified of what she'll say.

"It appears to be some sort of panic attack. But he won't let us help him, and he keeps asking for you."

That's all it takes for Thomas to start running. He doesn't stop until he reaches the nurse's office, barging through the door. The nurse is kneeling in front of the bed, in front of Newt, who has his knees pulled to his chest and he's sobbing and wheezing. She's clearly trying to help, trying to make it better but every time she touches him he yelps and backs away, sobbing into his arms.

She moves away when Thomas appears, and Thomas finds himself frozen at the doorway for just a second. He honestly didn't think this would happen again, didn't think he'd find Newt in this situation again. He thought it was a one-time thing, he'd _hoped_ it was a one-time thing because this is terrifying enough for himself as it is, and he can't even imagine what it's like for Newt.

Quickly enough, he manages to compose himself and he rushes towards Newt, climbing next to him on the bed and he whispers his name to get him to look at him. Just like last time, Newt's head snaps up, but, this time, Newt immediately clambers close to Thomas, sniffling and whimpering and _trying so hard to breathe it hurts_. Thomas pulls Newt into his embrace, moving Newt's hand to his chest straight away.

"C'mon, Newt, focus," he whispers, pressing kisses to the top of Newt's head and he hopes it's soothing because there's nothing much more he can do. " _Breathe_."

He feels Newt nod, the boy's hand clenching into a fist around Thomas's shirt. The nurse is watching them, a small smile spread across her face but Thomas pays her no attention, can't afford any slight distractions. He combs his fingers through Newt's hair, fingers rubbing his scalp to calm him.

Again, it takes a while, and Thomas is just beginning to think it won't work when he feels Newt shudder as he manages to hold a breath, letting out a broken sob. "That's perfect," Thomas praises, feels the tenseness in Newt's shoulders fade slightly as the boy slowly manages to get enough air into his lungs to think straight. "Keep going."

Thomas feels Newt relax more and more in his arms as the minutes pass and he just holds him, tries not to cry himself because he hates seeing Newt like this, in such a state that he can't fix himself, that he's completely dependent on Thomas to help him _breathe_. Eventually, Newt lifts his head a little bit, nuzzling his nose underneath Thomas's jaw and Thomas takes that as the signal that he's okay now, just like last time.

He doesn't want to let go just yet, though, doesn't even want to let Newt out of his sight. He glances at the nurse, sending her a look that he hopes says that it's fine now, Newt has calmed down. She seems to understand, and says, "I'm going to go talk to your teachers, give the two of you a few minutes to talk."

Then she's gone, and Thomas is immediately asking, "What the hell happened?"

He feels Newt flinch at his loud voice and he grasps Newt's hand as an apology. "I don't know," Newt whispers, trembling slightly. "We were in class, and the teacher asked me a question and I didn't know the answer. He was okay with it, but my fingers started tingling and I couldn't focus. But I was fine, I think, and then a little while later he asked me to read out my work and... I think I just snapped. Tommy, I don't know. I'm sorry, I tried to fight it but that just seemed to make it _worse_ -"

"It's okay," Thomas interrupts, silencing Newt. "It's not your fault." He's aware of the fact that Newt's still shaking, despite the fact that he can breathe now and Thomas is holding him as tight as he can. 

"Please don't tell her it's happened before," Newt begs, and he pulls away from Thomas enough so that he can look at him with pleading eyes. " _Please_ , Tommy, she'll call my mum and-"

" _Newt_ ," Thomas stops him again, bringing a soft hand to Newt's cheek. "I won't say anything, okay? I promise you I won't say a thing." Newt nods, a signal that he believes Thomas and it's enough for Thomas, for now. "Now, c'mon, lie down. You must be freaking exhausted."

Newt smiles shyly, pulling the quilt over himself as Thomas climbs off of the bed. Thomas makes his way to the top of the bed and kneels beside it, hand stroking Newt's hair from his face. "I'll be back after school, okay? If the nurse says she's going to call your mum, tell her not to because she's working. Say that I've told my mum what happened and she's coming to pick us up after school." Newt sends Thomas a grateful smile, raising his hand to clasp Thomas's. "And stay here today. Just rest up, it's only a couple more hours."

"Okay," Newt agrees, and Thomas stands up now that they've reached an agreement.

With one more warm smile, Thomas goes to step away, but Newt suddenly grips his hand, pulling him back for a moment. Thomas raises a questioning eyebrow, which is met with a shy, lazy smile. "Tommy-"

"I know," Thomas promises. He doesn't need Newt to tell him, knows exactly what he wants to say. He strokes his thumb over Newt's knuckles as a silent promise. "I'd do anything for you. Remember that."

Newt doesn't say anything, but his cheeks flush as he relaxes into the bed so Thomas knows he's gotten through to him. Newt drops his hand, so Thomas returns to class, heart heavy and stomach full of dread.

He has no idea what he's supposed to do.

***

It might be naive, but Thomas still hopes that maybe it won't happen again. Maybe Newt will be fine, won't have to go through that again, that _neither_ of them will have to go through it again.

He's out of luck, though.

For the next week, Newt has at least one panic attack every day, and they just seem to keep getting worse. They seem to last longer; maybe Thomas is just finding them harder to deal with, but, either way, they aren't getting any easier to handle. For either of them.

It isn't until Alby witnesses one of Newt's panic attacks that Thomas realises - he needs to do something about them.

He's sitting in his Chemistry classroom, alone, during lunch, catching up on work that he hasn't had time to do because he's been spending every possible moment he can with Newt. But he needs to get this work done, and his Chemistry teacher is nice enough to let Thomas use his classroom whenever he needs to, happy that, unlike other students, Thomas doesn't want to fall behind and actually puts in the effort to learn what he's missed.

Thomas is just getting in the zone when his phone starts vibrating in his pocket. He contemplates ignoring it, he needs to be doing his work. Instead, he takes his phone out and puts it on the desk, deciding to let it ring out. If the person calls again, it must be important and he'll answer it. If not, he'll focus on his work. Checking the caller ID, he realises it's Alby, and decides to stick to that plan. 

He continues working as the phone vibrates, and, eventually, it stops, and Thomas almost forgets about it when it vibrates again, but this time only for a second. A text message.

_From: Alby  
thomas get to the lockers NOW_

Thomas raises an eyebrow, about to message and ask if whatever this is is important because he's kind of busy and he needs to know if it can wait, but then another message comes through, completely stopping that train of thought.

 _From: Alby  
_ _its newt. theres something seriously wrong!!!_

Immediately, Thomas is shoving his books into his bag, not caring if he damages them because he has to _go_. And then he's out the door, and running towards their lockers, heart pounding and he's praying that this isn't what he thinks it is, but he knows that's not possible at all, there's no way that this isn't another panic attack.

He hears them before he sees them as he turns the corner, hears Newt's panicked breaths and Alby's futile attempts at calming him down. Thomas drops his schoolbag against the lockers, alerting Alby to his presence. Newt is standing, facing the lockers, hands splayed out against them as he tries to support himself, eyes squeezed shut as he wheezes and tries to breathe. Thomas can already tell this is bad, one of the worse ones.

He's beside Newt in a second, finally gaining the attention of the blond boy, whose eyes widen and he backs away from Thomas, shaking his head. He seems to be trying to talk but he's crying and coughing and it's making everything worse. _Thomas_ is making everything worse. Thomas follows Newt, stepping close to him again, trying to make eye contact but Newt's eyes close again as he shakes and trembles and tries to focus on breathing.

Deciding that it's now or never, Thomas kneels down against the lockers, pulling Newt down with him by his hand. He wraps his arms around the boy, trying to reign in his own panic but, honestly, he's struggling. Newt's minuscule breaths are raspy, and they sound painful and they make Thomas want to clench his fists but he can only pull Newt into his chest, following the routine that he's become so used to carrying out.

"What the hell happened?" he hisses at Alby, who's just staring, no idea what to do. Normally, when Thomas asks Newt what happened, Newt says he doesn't know, one minute he was fine and the next he couldn't breathe. This is his chance to figure out if Newt's hiding something from him, or if he really doesn't know.

Alby's mouth opens and closes for a few seconds as he tries to figure out what to say but clearly can't. Finally, he finds his voice. "I don't- he just came out of nowhere, and he was looking for you," Alby explains, and the guilt fills Thomas so quickly that he feels sick, and has to tighten his grip on the quivering boy. Newt is panting desperately, trying so hard to focus on Thomas's own breathing but Thomas can tell he's struggling and, as always, the fear fills him that maybe this isn't going to work this time. He ducks his head to Newt's ear, whispering encouraging words to him to hopefully help because there's not much else he can do. "He was acting weird, kinda nervous, and I told him you were catching up on schoolwork and he was fine for a couple seconds but then he couldn't breathe."

Thomas's own eyes squeeze shut as he nods bitterly. This is his fault. He should have found some other time to catch up, because Newt needed him and he wasn't there. He probably could have stopped this from happening altogether, but he didn't.

He's never hated himself more.

And Newt's still sobbing, whimpering against Thomas and it's breaking Thomas's heart. He should have been able to stop this, shouldn't be struggling so much to fix it. He should be able to stop Newt from having to go through this because Newt is supposed to be his best friend and Thomas should be the one that can help him but he can't. He can't do anything.

"Newt," he whispers into Newt's ear, head dipped down so his lips are near Newt's hairline. Newt shakes, hand grasping for Thomas's, knuckles turning white with the effort of trying to breathe. This isn't fair. Why is this happening to _Newt_ of all people? What did he ever do? This shouldn't be happening to someone so innocent, so young, so gentle. Newt shouldn't be having to go through this. He squeezes Newt's hand, a silent reassurance that Thomas is here and he's going to get Newt through this, no matter what.

"Tom- _Tommy_ ," Newt rasps, frantic and straining.

Thomas takes a shuddering breath, pulling Newt close. "It's okay," he promises, even though it isn't because this isn't working. Newt isn't breathing yet and he should be, Thomas swears he should be.

"Should I get a teacher?" Alby asks suddenly and Thomas jumps so high that it makes Newt flinch. Honestly, he'd forgotten that Alby was even here, focusing solely on Newt and trying not to let his own panic show.

Part of Thomas wants to say _yes_ , because that's the logical, responsible thing to do. But Thomas knows that if _he_ can't do anything to help Newt, no one else can. So he shakes his head, ignoring the frown from Alby. He knows what's best for Newt; he's making the right decision.

He has to make this work because either Alby is going to find a teacher anyways, or someone is going to walk past and find them and it's all going to go wrong. He promised Newt he wouldn't tell anyone, and it's bad enough that Alby knows, he doesn't need anyone else finding out. He can't break that promise, at least not without Newt's permission.

He's pressing gentle kisses to the top of Newt's head, tears stinging his eyes and threatening to spill but he can't cry. Can't make this about himself, because this is about Newt, about helping Newt because Thomas's best friend is struggling right now and he needs to fix it, but he doesn't know if he can. He's been pushing his luck for too long now, knowing that these panic attacks have been getting worse for Newt both in frequency and intensity, and he really should have told someone before now because he can't handle this on his own, can't handle the pressure.

Then Newt is pressing his nose beneath Thomas's jaw, a telltale sign that he's going to be okay, and he's managing to take shuddering breaths. They're small, but Thomas knows it's better now. The relief fills him so fast he feels dizzy and he can't handle this again, can't handle seeing Newt like this. He needs to find a way to fix it, a way to _prevent_ the attacks from happening in the first place, but that's kind of hard when he doesn't know what's causing them.

But then Newt is crying into Thomas's shoulder, and he's sobbing _I'm sorry_ over and over and Thomas has to squeeze his eyes shut to stop himself from crying, because Newt thinks this is his fault, thinks Thomas blames him for this. Thomas could never blame Newt for this. He manoeuvres himself so he can hug Newt more easily, pulling the boy close to him as tight as he can and he promises Newt that he doesn't _need_ to be sorry, that Thomas isn't angry.

Someone taps his shoulder and Thomas reluctantly lifts his head to look at Alby. Alby flashes a thumbs up, silently asking if Newt is okay now and, after Thomas nods, he signals that he's going to go. Thomas nods again, and then it's just himself and Newt, who's still whimpering out apologies.

Thomas pushes himself away from Newt enough that they can look at each other and Newt stares at him with red, glistening eyes. "Stop apologising," Thomas orders and his voice is firm, serious, because Newt needs to _listen_.

But Newt shakes his head, sniffling. "But you were _busy_ ," Newt insists, and, okay, maybe Thomas was but that doesn't matter - Newt comes first. Always.

Thomas brings his hands to cup Newt's face, forcing the boy to look at him. "I don't care," he says. Newt seems to go to argue, but Thomas continues before he can. "Newt, whatever I was doing, I'd have been here. I could have been on the freaking _moon_ and I'd have come back for you."

That makes Newt let out a small, weak laugh, and he smiles slightly. "I know," he promises. And Thomas knows he knows, but he'll still never get tired of saying it.

The mood becomes serious again, filled with silence and Thomas swallows thickly, wondering how he should approach this situation because he doesn't know what the right thing to do is. He wants to do the best by Newt, but he doesn't know what that is.

Except he does know what's best by Newt, deep down, because he's Newt's best friend and Newt trusts him. So, having figured out a plan, Thomas says, "We're going home."

He's never seen Newt look so confused, head tilting to the side with a small frown and it's so adorable that Thomas might have cooed had this not been such a serious situation. "What d'you mean?"

Thomas offers a small smile, a reassurance for Newt - and himself - that he knows what he's doing and that Newt can trust him (even though there's no chance Newt would ever _not_ trust him). "Me and you," he says, "We're gonna go to my house. Right now. I don't think either of us are up for our last classes, and you need to rest. My mum is working, so she won't know."

Newt doesn't look happy with this decision, probably scared to skip class because they haven't done that before, but he nods hesitantly in agreement. "You sure?" he asks, just for confirmation that Thomas has thought this through.

Thomas nods firmly. "Completely." Then he stands up, holding out his hand for Newt to take. Newt links their fingers together, letting Thomas pull him up, and they both grab their schoolbags, slinging them over their shoulders before leaving the building and walking right out of the school gate, heading for Thomas's house.

***

Newt flops down on the sofa like this is his own house and, honestly, it kind of is. Thomas has noticed that Newt acts more comfortable in his house than in his own, acts more friendly with Thomas's mother than his own, but he's never been weirded out by that. He just smiles fondly at the way Newt completely de-stresses when he's here, how Newt just curls up on the sofa and stares at Thomas with a lazy grin.

Thomas knows they need to talk, need to discuss some serious things. But not right now. Right now, they're going to watch some films, and they're going to cuddle and Thomas is going to get Newt as calm as he can to prove to himself that he _can_ help Newt regain control when he's having a panic attack. He's going to figure out as many other ways as he can to help Newt, rather than just relying on that one method that only works when the panic attack is in full swing. He wants to be able to stop them from happening in the first place, catch the telltale signs and calm Newt down before everything goes to hell. He wants to be able to help.

But, like he said, not now. Now, he's seizing the remote, turning on the TV and he's grabbing a blanket. The boys kick off their shoes and Thomas pulls the blanket over the two of them, scrolling through the selection of films until he finds one he knows they both like. His heart flutters when Newt curls himself into Thomas's side, resting his head on Thomas's shoulder with a content sigh. Thomas drops the remote, curling his arm around Newt's side to pull him as close as humanly possible, because he doesn't feel completely right unless Newt is right here, beside him.

Thomas rests his head on top of Newt's. He's acting like he's focusing on the film, but really he couldn't care less about it. All he can think about right now is Newt. He's trying, but all he can picture is the image of Newt being unable to breathe, panicking and crying and Thomas not being able to help. He never feels as useless as he does in those moments, only being able to hold Newt and try to keep himself calm whilst Newt tries to figure out how to _breathe_. And Thomas just can't do anything.

Soon enough, Newt is breathing slowly, body limp against Thomas's and Thomas realises he's asleep. He manoeuvres them both so that Newt is nestled more comfortably against him, smiling at the small groan that Newt lets out as he adjusts himself. Newt relaxes again, legs draped over Thomas's and head laying on Thomas's shoulder, close to his neck. Now, Thomas is content, because, even if Newt's asleep, he's still completely relaxed, trusts Thomas completely and it's what he lives for, what he _needs_.

He lets himself relax too, finally, nestling his nose into Newt's hair and he closes his eyes, letting sleep envelop him almost immediately.

***

Thomas is woken up barely an hour later by violent vibrating in his pocket. He shifts, blinking his eyes to try to get rid of the sleepy feeling as he becomes aware of his surroundings. Newt is still fast asleep, comfortably leaning against Thomas and Thomas doesn't want to move him, but his phone is ringing and he probably needs to answer it. So he clambers off of the sofa, carefully laying Newt down and hoping he stays asleep. Newt stirs, groaning softly and brows furrowing but he quickly falls back into a peaceful slumber.

Thomas steps away and towards the kitchen, heading to grab a drink as he pulls his phone from his pocket, checking who's calling and he freezes. It's his mother.

Thomas braces himself before accepting the call, and immediately there's yelling. She's asking where the hell he's been and why he hasn't been answering his phone and why he _skipped school_ , and Thomas can't find his voice to explain. When she finally stops yelling, probably to take a breath, Thomas says, "You'll just have to trust me."

And she says, "Thomas, I _do_ trust you, but I need you to tell me what's going on."

Thomas's eyes slip shut as he inhales deeply. "I will, I promise. But not over the phone. I'll explain everything when you get home."

He hears her sigh, seeming hesitant, and he hopes that she'll just agree because he still hasn't had the chance to talk to Newt about this and he needs the few hours before she's due home for that. Eventually, she gives in. "Okay. But as soon as I get home, Thomas."

Thomas grins, relieved, and he says _promise_ before hanging up. Then, he continues his journey towards the cupboard and grabs the cocoa so he can make hot chocolate. Newt's still asleep, but Thomas is going to have to wake him up soon so they can talk, and, hopefully, he can ease the panic with hot cocoa.

Besides, who doesn't like hot cocoa?

He spends this time trying to think about how this conversation is going to go, what he's going to say but he keeps drawing blanks because he _doesn't know_. No matter what, Newt's going to be upset and Thomas swore he'd never do anything to hurt him, but now he has to, he doesn't have a choice.

Then he's got two cups of hot cocoa, topped with whipped cream and marshmallows and chocolate sprinkles and he returns to the living room, where Newt's still curled up and sleeping. He puts the cups on the table before making his way over to kneel in front of the sofa. For a minute, Thomas finds himself just watching Newt sleep. Newt's face is completely relaxed, and he looks so peaceful that Thomas almost doesn't want to wake him. But he has to.

"Newt," Thomas whispers, bringing his hand to Newt's face, stroking his thumb across Newt's cheek. Newt shifts, but he stays asleep. " _Newt_ ," Thomas repeats. He pushes Newt's fringe from Newt's face.

Newt shifts again, letting out a small groan. "What?" he mumbles, lifting his hand to meet Thomas's and he links their fingers together, even in his sleep-dazed state.

Thomas's heart flutters, and he squeezes Newt's hand. "Wake up," he says, "I made hot chocolate."

Newt peeks an eye open, staring at Thomas in disbelief. "Seriously?" he asks with a small smile. He opens his eyes properly as Thomas nods, and Newt grins as he sits up, stretching. "Why?"

Thomas lowers his gaze. He'd hoped he'd at least have a few minutes before he'd have to bring this up, but he can't lie to Newt. He lifts his gaze again, meeting Newt's eyes as Newt stares at him, confused. "Because we need to talk," he says quietly.

Newt's face falls and he sits up straighter, pulling away from Thomas slightly. Thomas takes this opportunity to climb up onto the sofa. He sits across from Newt, cross-legged and facing him as Newt avoids his gaze. Thomas is silent, won't talk until Newt does.

"About what?" Newt asks, reaching over to grab his hot chocolate.

Thomas grabs his own cup, swallowing thickly. He knows that this probably won't go well, and Newt isn't going to like this which means that, in turn, Thomas is going to _hate_ it, but he doesn't have a choice. He's only doing this because he _has_ to. "You know what about, Newt," he tells him.

Newt closes his eyes, inhaling deeply and he's clearly trying to compose himself. Thomas desperately wants to change his mind, wants to do what _Newt_ wants him to, but he needs to do what's best for Newt. And this is it. Newt stays silent, and Thomas guesses he doesn't know what to say.

"I know I promised I wouldn't tell anyone," Thomas says, testing for a reaction from Newt, but Newt is frozen, staring at the cup in his hands. "And I don't want to, Newt, I swear to you I don't. But... I mean, we both know they're getting worse, and I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to help on my own."

Newt's head snaps up at that, brows furrowed. "How is anyone else supposed to help me if you can't?"

"Newt, that's not what I'm saying," Thomas tries to explain. He ditches his cup on the coffee table and does the same with Newt's, then grabs Newt's hands with his own, stroking his thumbs across his knuckles. "I will always help you, and I'm never going to just leave you for somebody else to deal with. But I can't be with you all the time. I can't guarantee that I'll be there when you have another one. You need... You need to find a coping mechanism, and other people need to know how to help you."

Newt shakes his head, ripping his hands from Thomas's. "I don't _want_ anyone else to know, Tommy."

"I know," Thomas says. He wants to reach forward for Newt again but he knows he shouldn't. His focus right now is to get Newt to listen to him. "Newt, I know that you hate this. And I really wish that I didn't have to do this, but I also know that you trust me, and I swear to you that the best thing we can do is tell someone. Someone who can help."

Newt blinks slowly, and he looks so young and helpless that it terrifies Thomas how much that affects him. Newt seems to be wavering, though, and Thomas knows he's beginning to get through to him. " _You_ help," Newt whispers, eyes glistening.

Thomas nods. "And I always will. But I have to know that you'll be okay without me being there. I can't- Newt, those panic attacks, they're... they're _horrible_ to witness, and I can't even imagine what they're like for you. And leaving you alone terrifies me to the point that I can't do it; I have to spend every possible moment with you because I'm too scared that something's going to happen when I'm not there, something that I could have stopped." Newt drops his gaze, and Thomas knows he's convinced him, but he keeps going because he needs Newt to _understand_ him. "I know that no one else can help you the way that I can, and that maybe they can't help you through them. But maybe they can help you find a coping mechanism. You know, something to help you get through them if you're on your own, or with someone who isn't me."

Newt's still silent, brows furrowed as he stares at his hands. Thomas figures he's trying to decide on how he feels about this, how to react and what to say. 

"Newt," Thomas says, reaching his hands for Newt's again but Newt pulls away before he can take a hold of them. "Please, just trust me."

Newt lifts his gaze slowly, eyes narrowed and mouth contorted into a small frown. "Who?" he finally asks. "Who would we tell?"

"My mum," Thomas answers immediately. He knows it'd probably be 'expected' for him to tell Newt's mother, but he also knows how much Newt would hate it if they had to sit down with his mum and talk about this. He's always been much more comfortable around Thomas's mum.

Newt furrows his eyebrows, clearly confused. "Not mine?"

Thomas shakes his head. "Not yours," he promises. "I mean, my mum might tell yours, but you won't have to talk to her about it."

That seems to be what finally tips Newt over the edge and, finally, he nods slowly. "Okay," he whispers, and Thomas feels lighter already.

"Okay?" he presses, just for the reassurance. Newt nods more firmly this time, a lot more sure and it's enough for Thomas for now.

The conversation is over then. They grab their hot chocolates and Thomas puts on a film for them to watch. Newt cuddles into him slightly, and it's completely calm now, which Thomas is grateful for because it's all going to blow up again when his mother gets here, so a couple of hours of peace is good for the both of them.

Time flies past, and soon it's dark out. Thomas doesn't even notice how long it's been until he hears the familiar sound of the keys in the door, signalling that his mother is here. Both boys jump up, standing to stare at the door. Instinctively, Newt grabs Thomas's hand, and Thomas intertwines their fingers, stepping almost protectively in front of Newt so that Newt is standing slightly behind him.

Then his mother steps in, cheeks flushed and she's saying, " _Thomas_ -"

But she turns and sees Newt there, too, and subsequently freezes. She stares for a moment, glancing between the two of them, then drops her handbag on the table before making her way over to the two of them.

Thomas feels Newt tense behind him, and it's kind of frightening that Newt is more comfortable with Thomas's mother than his own but she still scares him this much. Although, Thomas knows that it's more the _situation_ that's scaring Newt, rather than her.

She stops in front of the two of them, and then motions for them to sit down and she sits down on the couch opposite from them. "What's going on?" she asks once the boys have gotten comfortable; Thomas is sat cross-legged and Newt is sitting a little distance away from him, knees pulled close to his chest. Their hands are connected between them, Thomas's thumb stroking across Newt's knuckles every so often.

Thomas didn't expect this to be so hard, honestly. He expected to just be able to say what's been happening and that'd be that. But he's struggling to form the words, can feel the anxiety radiating off of Newt so much that he doesn't _want_ to say, even though Newt agreed to tell someone.

Clearly realising that no one's going to explain anything, Thomas's mother presses further. "Thomas? You said you'd tell me. If it's something serious, I have to know."

"I know," Thomas mumbles. He has to tell her, but he _can't_ , can't form the words and it's bothering him. "I just..." Thomas trails off, a lump forming in his throat.

He can feel Newt staring at him, eyes wide and he doesn't understand _why_ he can't say anything. This isn't even supposed to be hard for him, this is _Newt's_ problem, it's supposed to be difficult for _him_ , not Thomas.

"I've been having panic attacks," Newt suddenly explains. His voice is quiet, but it still makes Thomas jump. His mother leans forward, closer, signalling for Newt to continue. Thomas feels the guilt fill him that Newt is having to explain what's wrong because that's supposed to be _his_ job. "A lot. And they've been bad, I think they're getting worse."

Thomas finally finds his voice (even if it is a little late). "He had one today, at lunch. It was the worst he's had so far. I wasn't- I didn't know what to do. I was scared, so I took him home, to give him time to rest because I know they tire him out. I'm sorry-"

"It's okay, Thomas," she says, kneeling down in front of Newt. She presses two fingers to Newt's wrist as if checking his pulse, and waits a few seconds. Thomas just watches, still holding Newt's hand and squeezes reassuringly. It's all he can do. "Your heart's beating a little fast. Is that from earlier, or has it just started now?"

Newt shrugs slightly. "It's almost always like that," he says. "I'm usually fine in the morning, but it starts when I leave the house. And my hands always feel weird, too."

She nods slowly, turns his hand over in hers. Thomas lets go of Newt's other hand, lets her take a hold of that one, too. "Tingly weird? Or does it feel like they hurt?"

Newt furrows his eyebrows, as Thomas continues to watch. He feels his heart swell with pride, amazed that Newt is actually talking and he doesn't need Thomas to talk for him. "I don't know," he mumbles, clenching his hands into temporary fists. "They don't hurt, I don't think."

"Okay," she says, giving Newt a quick once-over. She sends the two of them a small smile. "You two did right, telling me. We can help you, Newt. Find out what's causing this and how we can fix it."

Newt nods, but Thomas can tell he's not entirely convinced. He pulls his hands away from Thomas's mother and shuffles backwards slightly, dropping his gaze.

"I'm going to call your mother," she says. Newt's head flies back up, eyes wide.

"D'you have to?" he asks, sounding absolutely desperate for her _not to_. Thomas understands; Newt isn't close with his mother, at all. Thomas's mother knows that, which is one of the many reasons she's so open to having Newt over as often as he is. "Please. She won't want to know, it'll just make her angry."

Thomas's mum hesitates, and she clearly knows how much Newt will hate this. "It's either that, or I do this through the school. I can go down there tomorrow, and they'll handle the whole process."

Thomas knows Newt isn't exactly eager for either of the choices, but there's a clear winner, and he knows even before Newt says it. "School. Please, school," New mumbles, bottom lip quivering. Thomas shuffles slightly closer, ready to hold him if he starts to cry.

"Okay," Thomas's mother agrees. "School it is. But you know they'll tell her, right?" Newt nods, can't find his voice. She stands up again, glancing between both boys. "You're welcome to stay the night, Newt, as always. Dinner will be ready later, so you can help yourself to that, too." Newt stares at his hands. "It'll be okay, Newt. You've got people supporting you, who want to help you. We're not going anywhere."

Newt takes a shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut. "Thank you," he whispers as she leaves, and Thomas can tell he's struggling to stop the tears from falling. He moves as close as he can to Newt, taking hold of his hands and forcing Newt to look at him.

He offers Newt a small, reassuring smile, not sure of what else he can do. "See? That was okay, wasn't it?" Newt blinks at him, reluctant to talk. "You were amazing."

Newt's leaping forward then, wrapping his arms around Thomas's neck. Thomas jumps slightly at the sudden movement, letting out a weak laugh as he snakes his arms around Newt's waist to pull him closer.

"Thank you," Newt whimpers, sounding seconds away from tears. "Thank you, Tommy. I love you so much."

Thomas's heart swells, and he can feel the tears filling his own eyes. "I love you, too," he promises, gently squeezing Newt. "So freaking much it hurts. I'd do anything for you, absolutely anything."

***

It's a long process.

First, Newt has to talk to the school counsellor. The guy is old and creepy, even by Thomas's standards so he knows Newt is terrified of him, though the boy adamantly denies it. Thomas waits for him after the meeting is over, but he refrains from bombarding Newt with any of the questions spinning around in his head and making him dizzy.

The school sorts a meeting with an actual therapist next, courtesy of the school counsellor deciding it would be beneficial for Newt to be able to talk to someone 'far more experienced'. To Thomas, that makes no sense. He thought they did the same thing? Besides, this guy is trained to work with kids and teenagers, and Newt's a teenager. He literally specialises in this age group and he wants to send Newt off to someone different?

But then the guy explains that Newt might need to be prescribed meds, and that he doesn't have the authority to decide that or prescribe them. The revelation both relieves and terrifies Thomas. Medication could help, it could really help, but the thought of Newt having to take pills just so his brain doesn't stop his entire body from functioning for no apparent reason makes him sick to the stomach. What kind of a thirteen-year-old gets prescribed medication from a therapist?

When Newt finds out he might need meds, he tries to act tough, but Thomas sees right through his facade. As soon as they're both alone, he pulls Newt into his arms and lets him cry. Newt cries for hours that night, and Thomas doesn't think he'll ever stop.

It turns out Newt does need meds. Thomas is with him when he picks up his first bottle of pills and he sees the look of dismay Newt has as he stares at the bottle in his hands.

It's nothing compared to the look of disgust that Newt's mother uses when she looks at Newt, though. She's been a nightmare through this entire journey. She acts like this is all Newt's fault, like he caused this or he could've stopped this or something that anybody else could see isn't true.

Thomas hasn't heard her say one encouraging thing to Newt.

He figures the only reason she's going through with any of this is because the school is involved. Because Thomas's mother went to the school instead of Newt's mother and now the school is checking up on Newt constantly to make sure he's coping alright. Thomas wants to yell at her. He glares at her whenever she's around and she glares back (she hates him and he knows that, but he doesn't care), but Thomas doesn't say anything, for Newt's sake. Newt doesn't need the added pressure of his best friend fighting with his mother.

The panic attacks become less frequent. They still happen, and when they happen, they're _bad_. But they're manageable. Newt's using some sort of sense mechanism to push the panic away - something along the lines of naming five things he can see, four things he can hear, three things he can touch, and so on. Thomas doesn't understand, but Newt says it works most of the time so Thomas doesn't care. If it helps, he's okay with it.

Thomas spends a lot more time being _close_ to Newt. They've always been close, but Thomas has never quite craved somebody else's touch like this before. Whenever he's around Newt, he's itching to hold his hand or hug him or do something that means they're as close as possible. He thinks Newt notices, but Newt doesn't seem to mind. If anything, he seems to love it.

Thomas couldn't be more glad, because the thought of never being able to hold Newt again fills him with a sense of dread that leaves him empty and cold.

Thomas needs Newt, and Newt needs Thomas.

It's simple. They don't need anybody else.

That thought should terrify Thomas, but it just makes him hold Newt tighter against his chest. If they have each other, nothing else matters.


End file.
